Yesterday, whilst out walking far from home, I received a phone call from relatives back in the UK advising me my Grandmother was seriously ill. Apparently she has had numerous problems with her stomache recently and was admitted to hospital yesterday unconcious. She´s 91 years old. The doctors have warned that, whilst there is hope, it is unlikely she will recover.

I immediately set about running across town to inform Mum. Exactly why I felt the need to run is beyond me because its not like any degree of urgency on my part could change the situation. Result was by the time I entered the house I was ready to calapse in a heap, bright red and gasping for air. The dog, on the other hand, was merely excited from the extra fun. Mum knew even before I told her. Have you noticed how they do this? I do wonder if women are giving some extra cognitive abilities when they become mothers… The ability to read their offspring like a book being just one of them.

Anyway this morning we received word that her condition had improved marginally but she had not regained conciousness. The consultant is visiting her this afternoon.

Until then we wait.

It is a sharp reminder how difficult it is living in a foreign country far aware from family. We are relying on others for news and carrying the additional burden of guilt for not being there. I think, secretly, my Mum regrets not returning to the UK. The guilt ways heavy on her because she fears she will not be able to see her mother again – she feels deep down she has been a “terrible daughter”. It doesn´t help my Grandmother has frequently stated my mother was selfish to seek a life of her own and not stay close to her.